A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4 by Steven Erikson Page A
Authors: Steven Erikson
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weapons.'
'Weapons?'
'Swords, shields and armour.'
'Letherii?'
'Yes. Middling quality.'
'What were these slavers doing with a wagon load of
weapons?'
Shrugging, he climbed back down, hurried past her and
began unhitching the horses. 'These beasts would've had a
hard time on the ascent.'
'Silchas Ruin is coming back,' Kettle said, pointing down
the road.
'That was fast.'
Udinaas laughed harshly, then said, 'The fools should
have scattered, made him hunt each one down separately.
Instead, they probably regrouped, like the stupid good
soldiers they were.'
From near the front wagon, Fear Sengar spoke. 'Your
blood is very thin, Udinaas, isn't it?'
'Like water,' the ex-slave replied.
For Errant's sake, Fear, he did not choose to abandon your brother. You know that. Nor is he responsible for Rhulad's madness. So how much of your hatred for Udinaas comes from guilt? Who truly is to blame for Rhulad? For the Emperor of a Thousand Deaths?
The white-skinned Tiste Andii strode from the mists, an
apparition, his black cloak glistening like snakeskin.
Swords sheathed once more, muting their cries – iron
voices reluctant to fade, they would persist for days, now.
How she hated that sound.
Tanal Yathvanar stood looking down at the naked woman
on his bed. The questioners had worked hard on her, seeking
the answers they wanted. She was badly broken, her skin
cut and burned, her joints swollen and mottled with bruises.
She had been barely conscious when he'd used her last
night. This was easier than whores, and cost him nothing
besides. He wasn't much interested in beating his women,
just in seeing them beaten. He understood his desire was
perversion, but this organization – the Patriotists – was the
perfect haven for people like him. Power and immunity, a
most deadly combination. He suspected that Karos Invictad
was well aware of Tanal's nightly escapades, and held that
knowledge like a sheathed knife.
It's not as if I've killed her. It's not as if she'll even remember this. She's destined for the Drownings in any case – what matter if I take some pleasure first? Soldiers do the same . He had
dreamed of being a soldier once, years ago, when in his
youth he had held to misguided, romantic notions of
heroism and unconstrained freedom, as if the first justified
the second. There had been many noble killers in the
history of Lether. Gerun Eberict had been such a man. He'd
murdered thousands – thieves, thugs and wastrels, the
depraved and the destitute. He had cleansed the streets of
Letheras, and who had not indulged in the rewards? Fewer
beggars, fewer pickpockets, fewer homeless and all the other
decrepit failures of the modern age. Tanal admired Gerun
Eberict – he had been a great man. Murdered by a thug, his
skull crushed to pulp – a tragic loss, senseless and cruel.
One day we shall find that killer.
He turned away from the unconscious woman, adjusted
his light tunic so that the shoulder seams were even and
straight, then closed the clasps of his weapon belt. One of
the Invigilator's requirements for all officers of the
Patriotists: belt, dagger and shortsword. Tanal liked the
weight of them, the authority implicit in the privilege of
wearing arms where all other Letherii – barring soldiers –
were forbidden by proclamation of the Emperor.
As if we might rebel. The damned fool thinks he won that war. They all do. Dimwitted barbarians.
Tanal Yathvanar walked to the door, stepped out into the
corridor, and made his way towards the Invigilator's office.
The second bell after midday sounded a moment before he
knocked on the door. A murmured invitation bade him
enter.
He found Rautos Hivanar, Master of the Liberty Consign,
already seated opposite Karos Invictad. The large man
seemed to fill half the room, and Tanal noted that the
Invigilator had pushed his own chair as far back as possible,
so that it was tilted against the sill of the window. In this
space on his side of the desk, Karos attempted a posture
'Weapons?'
'Swords, shields and armour.'
'Letherii?'
'Yes. Middling quality.'
'What were these slavers doing with a wagon load of
weapons?'
Shrugging, he climbed back down, hurried past her and
began unhitching the horses. 'These beasts would've had a
hard time on the ascent.'
'Silchas Ruin is coming back,' Kettle said, pointing down
the road.
'That was fast.'
Udinaas laughed harshly, then said, 'The fools should
have scattered, made him hunt each one down separately.
Instead, they probably regrouped, like the stupid good
soldiers they were.'
From near the front wagon, Fear Sengar spoke. 'Your
blood is very thin, Udinaas, isn't it?'
'Like water,' the ex-slave replied.
For Errant's sake, Fear, he did not choose to abandon your brother. You know that. Nor is he responsible for Rhulad's madness. So how much of your hatred for Udinaas comes from guilt? Who truly is to blame for Rhulad? For the Emperor of a Thousand Deaths?
The white-skinned Tiste Andii strode from the mists, an
apparition, his black cloak glistening like snakeskin.
Swords sheathed once more, muting their cries – iron
voices reluctant to fade, they would persist for days, now.
How she hated that sound.
Tanal Yathvanar stood looking down at the naked woman
on his bed. The questioners had worked hard on her, seeking
the answers they wanted. She was badly broken, her skin
cut and burned, her joints swollen and mottled with bruises.
She had been barely conscious when he'd used her last
night. This was easier than whores, and cost him nothing
besides. He wasn't much interested in beating his women,
just in seeing them beaten. He understood his desire was
perversion, but this organization – the Patriotists – was the
perfect haven for people like him. Power and immunity, a
most deadly combination. He suspected that Karos Invictad
was well aware of Tanal's nightly escapades, and held that
knowledge like a sheathed knife.
It's not as if I've killed her. It's not as if she'll even remember this. She's destined for the Drownings in any case – what matter if I take some pleasure first? Soldiers do the same . He had
dreamed of being a soldier once, years ago, when in his
youth he had held to misguided, romantic notions of
heroism and unconstrained freedom, as if the first justified
the second. There had been many noble killers in the
history of Lether. Gerun Eberict had been such a man. He'd
murdered thousands – thieves, thugs and wastrels, the
depraved and the destitute. He had cleansed the streets of
Letheras, and who had not indulged in the rewards? Fewer
beggars, fewer pickpockets, fewer homeless and all the other
decrepit failures of the modern age. Tanal admired Gerun
Eberict – he had been a great man. Murdered by a thug, his
skull crushed to pulp – a tragic loss, senseless and cruel.
One day we shall find that killer.
He turned away from the unconscious woman, adjusted
his light tunic so that the shoulder seams were even and
straight, then closed the clasps of his weapon belt. One of
the Invigilator's requirements for all officers of the
Patriotists: belt, dagger and shortsword. Tanal liked the
weight of them, the authority implicit in the privilege of
wearing arms where all other Letherii – barring soldiers –
were forbidden by proclamation of the Emperor.
As if we might rebel. The damned fool thinks he won that war. They all do. Dimwitted barbarians.
Tanal Yathvanar walked to the door, stepped out into the
corridor, and made his way towards the Invigilator's office.
The second bell after midday sounded a moment before he
knocked on the door. A murmured invitation bade him
enter.
He found Rautos Hivanar, Master of the Liberty Consign,
already seated opposite Karos Invictad. The large man
seemed to fill half the room, and Tanal noted that the
Invigilator had pushed his own chair as far back as possible,
so that it was tilted against the sill of the window. In this
space on his side of the desk, Karos attempted a posture
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